So I trolled two people at the bank pretty hard today.
I needed to create an account for my brand spanking new job. So I went over to the bank and they told me they couldn't create one without a document proving I lived here. No, they couldn't receive it through email either. I ask them what else I need, and they say only my ID.
So I head back home, eat lunch and return to the bank. Humongous line. At least they had chairs, so I could play my PSP in peace. Still an hour-long wait, though.
So when it's my turn, this obvious juicer academy rat steps up and says it's his turn. Except I saw him come in like five minutes earlier. I walk up to him and clear up the misunderstanding. He says "Look pal, I'm pissed and in a hurry, so you better get outta my way." Flex, flex.
At this point I casually comment, "You know the funny thing about steroids? They fuck up your heart rate really bad. I mean, I know four different ways of stopping the heart - two of them without even touching you, mind - and I can usually tell how long it'll take till the poor bastard finally gives in, give or take five seconds-" At this point, my cell phone signals I have a new message. Which equates to it playing this.
"Excuse me please. Oooo, cool, my vivisection kit just got home! I'm gonna have so much fun. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. Anyway, steroids fuck it up so bad that I usually miss the time by a full minute or more, which isn't very funny when you have, I dunno, maybe three or five of them to live. And that's a darned shame when there's a hospital just down the street! So I guess what I'm saying is...
...do you feel lucky, punk?"
At this point, between my fast-talking and his assimilating what I just told him, the guy says, "Hey, I guess I can wait a few more minutes..."
"WONDERFUL! Thank you so much." I turn to the lady who's supposed to process my application next and say, "Sorry about that ~<3". Seriously, you could see the tiny emoticon heart and everything. At this point, she's pretty queasy.
So I sit down and she asks for my documents. Plus one that her colleague didn't tell me I needed, but the number of which I knew by heart. So she says, "I-I'm sorry, but without that, we can't really open y-your account..."
At which point I reply, "Oh my! That sounds horribly... inconvenient
." And I give her a smile that's kinda like this.
Which basically told her this much in subtext: "Bitch, if you think I'm going home to bring back a piece of plastic whose information I can give you and that you can fucking confirm over the internet
, you need to give me some of whatever you're smoking."
She reads between the lines and says, "L-l-let me check with the m-m-manager..."
I actually see her walk nervously up to a guy in a suit, like she's holding back tears, and the guy tells her something. She returns and says she can open my account as long as I can bring her a copy of the document tomorrow. Which she does. At the end of which I walk away singing this.